


I've Always Had Eyes For You

by Jade_Masquerade



Series: Burn Bright [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: F/M, Post-Season 3 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: There had never been anyone but Uhtred for Aethelflaed, truly. It had never been right before, not with Gisela and his grief, Aethelred and his schemes, but now there was nothing but them, the quiet of the surrounding swamplands, and the air between them that grew more charged with each passing second.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: Burn Bright [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737682
Comments: 26
Kudos: 113





	I've Always Had Eyes For You

The small boat appeared out of the shadows, as still on the dark water as the night around them and tethered to the roots of a willowy tree that seemed on the verge of sliding into the swamp itself. It was no more than a simple raft, really, made of plain wooden planks so worn and weathered Aethelflaed was surprised it managed to stay afloat, but it was a godsend here. 

Aethelflaed wondered if this had been part of the plan, if someone had placed it at this spot in case it was needed or if it was the result of serendipity itself, but Uhtred seemed to have no such qualms as he placed her in it. He scoured the bank until he found a thin, flat log, and he used it to shove them away from the shore, their prow cutting a silent line through the smooth black surface of the murky creek. 

In the absence of running and Uhtred’s arms around her, Aethelflaed’s mind whirled. They had left the horses at the edge of the swamplands, not that the animals would have been of any use here, tossing the reins to Finan and Sihtric and the other men. She trusted them to cover their tracks and lead astray anyone who attempted to pursue them here or help them meet another more unsavory fate. 

Her husband’s men had arrived in the darkest hour of night, and it was only thanks to Aldhelm’s forewarning that they had been prepared to leave their refuge in Cantucton at a moment’s notice. It was not the ideal nor ultimate resolution to putting a stop to Aethelred’s endless pursuits, but if they had not fled, then there would have been no subsequent opportunity for such. She would have unlikely lived to see the sun rise in the morning. 

Trying to find a sense of calm, Aethelflaed quickly assessed herself. It was only thanks to God and the saints above she had avoided a twisted ankle or worse. The sharp ends of the reeds and the spikes of the cattails had caught on the hem of her dress as they ran, and the solid earth had given way to slippery mud in some places, while in others the tall grasses seemed to ensnare her boots the moment she set her foot down.

After the third time she had stumbled and fallen, Uhtred swept her up into his arms. Neither of them spoke; neither of them had scarcely dared to breathe. His step hardly faltered as he carried her as easily as an armful of newly shorn wool or a sack of grain, sloshing through the water and mud as she clung to him, her sopping dress heavy as it twisted around her body and stifling as it clung to her chest. 

“Aelfwynn—” Aethelflaed gasped as she caught some of her breath again.

“Is safe,” Uhtred said, his makeshift oar piercing the flat darkened sheet of water so thickened by silt it did not even shimmer beneath the light of the moon. He appeared as though he’d merely gone for a brisk, leisurely walk rather than a run for his life, his hair still up without a strand seemingly out of place, his chest and grip holding steady, his clothing nowhere near as disheveled as Aethelflaed knew she looked. “Here you have no one to worry over but yourself.” 

“Not true.” Aethelflaed thought of his men being pursued, her people left alone in Mercia, the kind family who had permitted them to rent rooms in their inn for as long as they wished without any prying questions asked. She could do nothing to change their fates, though, as Uhtred reminded her often enough, and besides, they all knew where to hide, how to defend. “I have you.” 

Uhtred grinned at that, and it was good to see after the frights they had endured this night. He was right, she knew. Her daughter was guarded by her father’s loyal men somewhere in Wessex and likely even more well-hidden than Aethelflaed herself. 

“Do you recall this place?” Uhtred asked. 

There were a thousand things of which they should have spoken: where they would go come morning, whether they should hide here or wait for one of his men to find them, what this meant for Wessex and Mercia, but he asked of that instead. Aethelflaed suspected he did so not out of any sense of nostalgia, but rather to calm her, to distract her, and she appreciated him all the more for it. 

“Of course. I was not so young,” Aethelflaed smiled. In some ways, she had been: naïve about the nature of the world and of men, enthralled by the prospect of living beyond the walls of Winchester and the possibility of their kingdom heading off to war rather than finding both of those ordeals dispiriting and disheartening. 

And in others… maybe not so much. In some ways, maybe she had always known what she truly wanted. 

“You were.” Uhtred spoke in between each pull of the repurposed driftwood. “You fell asleep in the boat and I had to carry you to shore because your father wouldn’t wake you.” 

“I suppose not so much has changed, then,” Aethelflaed said, still able to feel where his hands had gripped her around the waist and beneath her knees. 

Uhtred smiled again. “Fewer priests this time.” 

“And parents.” Her mother would retch if she knew about this, about her keeping the solitary company of a pagan, Uhtred himself no less. Aelswith never had been good at acknowledging the true dangers. 

“Your father was glad to have me around back then, Lady. Now he’d have my head if he saw you in my arms.” He laughed. “Your mother already wanted my head back then.”

She would have laughed with him if it were not so true; she could still hear her mother’s rebukes after she returned from spending afternoons watching Uhtred training his men rather than working on her studies or joining for prayers or accompanying her father to their meetings where they discussed things that were evidently not fit for a girl’s ears. Her mother would have been even more horrified had she known young Aethelflaed scarcely listened to a word of it, her attention drawn elsewhere. “My mother would warn me off you with every breath. She forbade me to near you, called you heathen.” 

He appeared amused rather than offended by that. “She’s right, Lady.” 

“I had eyes for you even then,” she admitted. She did not know why her cheeks flamed with such a confession when she had made her desires known to him before and he was certainly well aware of how she felt. 

Uhtred swallowed. He did not answer her confession with one of his own, but there was heat in his gaze. His eyes drifted down to her chest and assessed her body. “You must be cold, Lady.” 

She hadn’t had time to think on it, but now she glanced down to see her hands trembling in her lap, and a shiver ran through her. 

“You should change, or you’ll catch a chill.” 

“I don’t have anything else to…” 

Uhtred dropped the log beside him, allowing the boat to drift in the slight wind, and began to undress before her. He first pulled off his leather armor smeared with mud from her own dress, then slid free from the heavy links of his mail, and finally shed a linen tunic, which he passed over to her. “Here.” 

Stunned, she took it, and before she could ask if _he_ were cold now instead or whether this was his idea of a farce, he turned around and continued to row. 

Aethelflaed almost protested that she couldn’t take off her clothes _here,_ not out in the open like this, until she thought better of it and realized there wasn’t anyone around to see her in an indecent state anyhow. Despite the crisp air, her body seemed to buzz now with the thrill of having escaped and being alive and so utterly and absolutely alone, and that in itself was almost even more exhilarating.

It made her sort of wish Uhtred would turn and look as she began to undo the laces of her dress. She peeled it away from her arms until it pooled around her waist and then slipped free, letting it fall to the floor of the boat with a sodden slap. Her shift beneath was soaked through too, so she removed that next, not caring about the propriety her mother seemed to pride herself on. 

The shirt was still warm from his body as she pulled it on. It was overly large on her, but Aethelflaed supposed it covered all the important bits, drifting down past her thighs where it just met the ends of her stockings. Those were torn in places too, but she shivered again at the thought of removing them. 

“Take the cloak, too.” 

She hesitated. “What will you wear then?”

He shrugged. “I find it quite a pleasant night.” 

When he made no move for it and the wind rustled again, she picked up his cloak and wrapped that around herself too.

Uhtred wore only his breeches now, but he seemed to have no sense of the cold. He rowed on, and she unabashedly admired his body as he did, watching the play of the muscles in his back, studying what she could make out of his tattoo, wondering about the faint lines where scars he never spoke of marred the skin. 

“You can turn around now.” 

He did, and now she admired his other side, sneaking glances while he remained focused on the darkness around them. Uhtred had always seemed comfortable at night like this, stealing through the shadows, and she let him be her eyes and allowed his lack of fear to put her at ease as they drifted through the swamplands. 

The ghostly silhouettes of empty hovels, devoid of life or warmth, rose out of the marsh as they neared the heart of it. The huts were deserted now, the village abandoned, its inhabitants likely seeking protection behind stone walls somewhere as the Danes continued to encroach on their land, leaving no one to pay witness to their flight. The long reeds and tall grasses gave way to a small islet that loomed ahead, and Uhtred steered them towards the bank. 

The bow of the boat beached on the narrow shoreline. Uhtred stepped out first, the murky water nearly reaching the tops of his boots, and Aethelflaed let him help her from the raft, clutching an armful of her dirty clothes. Mud stiffened into a stretch of solid ground covered in cordgrass as they climbed to the top of the incline to stand upon the smallest hill, so small it did not even peak over the taller grasses and towering willows surrounding them. It seemed a spot good as any to spend the night. 

“We’ll need a fire if those clothes are to dry,” Uhtred said, and he set to searching for wood suitable to catch a flame and stones to ring it with. 

Aethelflaed wondered if that was wise, but she trusted him. Besides, in the darkness, it was unlikely anyone would spot the smoke, and it would only grow colder throughout the course of the night without. 

“Do you wish to wash?” he asked, and then she heard it, the trickling of a small stream. She didn’t know if he saw it before from the surface of the swamp or how he had, but she was grateful all the same. 

She wandered away, picking her way through the brush until she found it running down the side of the slight knoll and emptying into the marsh below. She cupped it in her hands and greedily sipped from it first, and then dipped her hands in the cool water again, running them over her arms to wash away the splotches and scratches. 

Aethelflaed removed her stockings next to scrub at the stains on them, but even the cold, clear water could do nothing to lift the mud from the fine fabric, and soon she gave up on them as a lost cause, irrevocably ruined. No matter, she consoled herself. They’d been a gift at some point from Aethelred, and Aethelflaed smiled as she thought about tossing them on the logs of Uhtred’s fire when she returned. 

Her hair had come undone as they ran, and she drew her hand through it, untangling, removing twigs and burrs and the pins that had loosened. It was silly, probably. Why did it matter now, when that should have been the least of her concerns? 

_You know why,_ spoke that voice inside of her, the very one she tried to repress, the one that had spurred her to kiss Uhtred once as he groomed his horse, as he had acted with honor even while she had attempted to persuade him into disrepute. Vanity was a sin, she knew, but she hoped she might be forgiven this one time, and in any case, it would be worth whatever penance came with it.

Uhtred had vanished by the time she made her way back to the clearing, but there was a small, smokey fire starting to smolder, and she sat down beside it. The few sparks spread as she watched, and she noticed that in her absence Uhtred had spread out her dress and shift and left his boots by the fire to dry, so she placed her own there beside them. 

Now that her heart and breath had calmed, and without even the sound of Uhtred’s oar or that of water lapping at the sides of the boat, Aethelflaed became aware of the silence. Instead of frightening her, it did quite the opposite. Silence was good; silence meant no one had pursued them; silence meant safety. Out here the stars were bright, and the tall grasses rustled with wind, and nothing else. It was a strange sort of peacefulness, a freedom from the burdens of fear and fretting, of roles and responsibilities. 

Memory came to her unbidden as she recalled feeling that way once before here. She didn’t want to think of those times, and not because Uhtred had reminded her quite precisely how young she had been then, but because her family had been happy then, and whole. Her father had been alive, feeling better than he had in years, they had known Edward would survive his sickness, and even her mother had found peace in her new confidant and her faith. Even while exiled from Winchester, hope had driven them, given them purpose. Aethelflaed knew would need to find that feeling again, hold onto it if she were to survive this. 

Uhtred emerged from the tall grasses carrying a heap of large leaves which he spread on the ground as though they were rushes. 

“It’s no feather bed, but it’ll do,” he said. 

“Who do you take me for, Lord Uhtred?” she teased. Whereas her skin prickled with goosepimples and she felt her nipples harden from the cold air slipping in beneath the thin linen of his shirt, he seemed utterly unaffected. “A proper lady?” 

“A proper lady doesn’t dress in the rags of heathens,” he said, and she suddenly became aware of just how far the neckline on his shirt dipped and how very high on her legs the hem came now that she’d shed her stockings. 

“Sorry for dirtying you,” she said, glancing apologetically over the bare planes of his chest and abdomen. It seemed he’d merely scrubbed his hands, smudges still all across his chest down to where his breeches sat low on his hips and a fine line of hair snaked down beneath the waist of them. She looked away, chastising herself for ogling when it was not one bit polite. “You didn’t wish to wash?” 

Uhtred didn’t move nor reply. Instead he unbuckled his sword belt, dropped it upon his discarded mail with a metallic clang, and sat down beside her on the soft swamp grass. The damp wood, not much more than smoldering embers, produced little heat, but now this close to him Aethelflaed felt as though perhaps they didn’t need it after all. Warmth seemed to spill from the firepit the same as it unfurled in her belly as he edged nearer still. 

It would have almost been romantic, she thought, if not for the circumstances.

“What makes you smile?” he asked. 

_Perhaps it still is._ “You,” she admitted. It was true; she never did smile so much as when she was with Uhtred, whether he was teasing her about being a princess, joking at the expense of their foes, or looking at her in a way that made her feel more than seen, but acknowledged, appreciated, adored. 

“Not something I often hear,” he said, and though he did so with a smirk and a shrug, she saw it there, that flash of vulnerability that so often laid under his brash exterior, that wish to have somewhere he belonged. The realization that he seemed to save it for her alone made her heart quicken.

“Share with me?” She extended an arm and offered space under his cloak to him, biting her lip for effect. They had played this many a time, her excuse to cling to him when she was cold, to hold him close for comfort, for protection. 

When she glanced up at him, he was grinning for true this time. “I had hoped the water would help cool your blood.” 

Instinct prompted her to deny, the decorum of a lady guided her to take offense, but she decided neither would be necessary. They were not at court nor church, and there was no sense in lying or playing the fool, and anyhow, she had no shame to appear embarrassed any longer. There were no pretenses with Uhtred, and that was perhaps what Aethelflaed cherished most about their relationship. “I thought I was being rather subtle.”

“You were,” he said. “It was a good performance. Better than some, anyway.” 

“Only than _some?_ ” she gasped in mock outrage. “You wound me. I know I am not the first, or the second or the third or the fourth or…” 

Uhtred ducked his chin, but she suspected he was laughing because she knew he was not the least bit shy about those kinds of matters. “Point taken, Lady.” 

She traced over the ground they sat upon, the grasses grown lengthy enough to weave. “It doesn’t matter to me. Not really. I suspect you loved them each in your own way.” 

He nodded. “There is truth in that.” 

Aethelflaed had never earned anything by being quiet, only a marriage that had ensnared her and a husband who’d made himself her enemy, so she spoke up. “And me?” 

He seemed to study her. She was certain she looked obscene through the thinness of his shirt,  
every inch of her so incredibly aware of him, and despite the cold air, a rush of heat washed over her as he seemed to drink her in. “You?”

“Yes.” She tried to imbue her voice with all the regality and none of the wantonness she felt in that moment. “Do you desire me, Lord Uhtred?” 

“It seems all of England does,” he said. 

Aethelflaed had no doubt now that she had not imagined the way his eyes had darkened, nor how they lingered on her lips before he flicked them back up to meet her own, and it only served to inflame her own want. “I did not ask after them. I asked of you.” 

“Any man would be a fool to not,” he said, but instead of the teasing lilt she’d grown accustomed to, his voice dipped to a deep rumble that seemed to resonate to her very core.

“I believe you have indeed admitted stupid is in your nature,” she said, her own words rushing out in little more than a murmur. 

“Aethelflaed…” 

When he said her name, she knew it would be inevitable, inexorable, that fate had pulled them to this edge, and that she merely had to make the slightest of moves to push them over it. She thought about the night she kissed him, and remembered the pain and hesitance evident there, written in the furrow of his brow and the sorrow writ upon his face, but there was none of that in his eyes now, only desire, and before she lost the courage the silence had emboldened her with, she pressed her lips to his. 

He was steady against her mouth, hot and solid, and she did not have to wait more than the briefest of moments for him to respond, seeming near as eager as she was. It had been quite the while since someone had kissed her like this, full of need and hunger and worship, or maybe no one ever had. If nothing else, she was certain she had never wanted anyone like this ever in her life. 

There had never been anyone but Uhtred for her, truly. It had never been right before, not with Gisela and his grief, Aethelred and his schemes, but now there was nothing but them and the air between them that grew more charged with each passing second. She poured that pent-up passion into the kisses they shared, allowing her hands to clutch his broad shoulders, to smooth over the expanses of muscle there built from years of swords work she’d always so admired. He seemed equally as desperate for the same, skimming his thumb down her jaw as she opened her mouth to him. His tongue slid against hers, tasting of the ale they’d been drinking with dinner before they’d fled, and she wondered if she tasted sweet like the honeycakes she’d been eating. 

His hands found her waist and he pulled her closer, the cold only served to heighten the sensation of his warm skin against hers. Aethelflaed had thought of this moment many a time—in her chambers in the palace at Winchester, when she’d first fumbled her way through seeking a release to that feeling which churned inside her at the sight of him; abed with her vile husband who was careless at best and outright cruel at worst; during endless nights alone at her estate, her hand splayed between her legs. She had not once pictured it this way, though, never imagined it with barbs in her hair and her own clothes utterly wrecked, and certainly not outside in the open like this, surrounded by swampland. 

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” Aethelflaed confessed, though this was nothing like the kind she was used to giving in church, this one breathless and full of exhilaration rather than apologetic and laden with guilt. It was liberating, and Uhtred encouraged her on, dropping his kisses down her neck, his touch moving to span her ribcage and palm her breasts. 

His hands that wrought death instead seemed to bring her to life; there’d be no marks left on her skin this time. _Why did only the bad leave traces behind, and not the good?_ she thought, her skin burning everywhere he caressed with his fingertips. They each had scars from the battles they’d been forced to fight, and she studied his up close now: the swordslash on his temple, the dagger press at his throat, the old wounds scarred over gracing his chest. She wondered how he’d come by each of them, or at least she did until he lifted the hem of her shirt—his shirt—up and off and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth before dragging his tongue across her chest to the other, robbing her of all coherent thought. 

Her breasts pressed up against his strong chest as Uhtred laid her back on his cloak, and she continued her exploration of his body as he stretched himself over her again and resumed their kisses. This time, she reached up to tug his hair free of the tie that held it together and threaded her fingers through the strands. Aethelflaed had always been drawn to that part of him, the way it made him look fierce and untamed, not staid or straitlaced at all, more Dane than Saxon. His hands slid lower, brushing over the softness of her belly, gripping her hips, gliding over her thighs, until at last he nudged her legs apart and groaned when he found her wet for him. 

He slipped one long finger into her, watched for her reaction with dark blue eyes blown wide, and when she tilted her hips to grind against his hand, he followed it with another, and then crooked them. She felt herself clench around his fingers, something delicious sparking within her as he slowly straightened and pulled them out before pushing back in. She had truly yet to have him and this was already better than she could have imagined, more than she’d ever been treated to. 

“Tell me what you want, Lady,” he said. In actuality, his voice could have been no more than a hoarse whisper, but to Aethelflaed, it upended her world, set her ablaze. 

“You,” she huffed out on a breathy sigh as he ran over that sweet, sweet spot between her legs. _Always you._ “I want you.” 

She didn’t know what to do, where to look as Uhtred slipped his fingers free and knelt between her legs, his hands moving to the laces of his breeches. He untied them slowly, as though to welcome her gaze and invite her to drink her fill, and he removed them slower still. 

“You can look, Lady,” he said, cocksure as ever, though there was something tentative there too beneath his brash façade, as though he sought her approval, wanted her to truly appreciate him, to see him in a way no one else did. 

She needed no other prompting, slaking her thirst as her eyes took in all of him now, and she couldn’t help but stare at his cock, not when it brushed between them as he moved to touch her again, and certainly not when he took her hand and wrapped it around his length. He felt thick and heavy, her hand dampening as she slid it first over the tip and then along his shaft. She glanced up to find him panting from that alone, and it seemed as though he could not close his eyes, could not look away, could not believe she was here entwined with him. Maybe, just maybe, he’d thought of her the very same way she had dreamed of him, and the mere possibility urged her on. 

“Lady,” he whined as she quickened her pace, and she relented, laying back again and lining up the head of his cock with her cunt. 

They had spent much time together throughout their travels on the run from Aethelred, rides over plains and through forests and past towns of all sorts, during which they discussed much and left little to themselves, so Aethelflaed had shared with him her firm belief that Aelfwynn would forever be her sole heir, that her womb could no longer bear fruit, even if she wished it. Even so, his eyes still flit to meet hers, begging permission, awaiting reassurance, and she nodded, sliding her hands to press against the base of his spine in encouragement. 

She had wondered how he liked it—soft and sweet, or hard and fast—so she felt content to let him lead. _This time,_ her mind contended, because she’d thought of a thousand other ways as well like the lovestruck girl she’d been since she first saw Uhtred, really saw him, fighting her father’s men all those years ago in the courtyard at Winchester. She was getting ahead of herself, though, and she returned her focus to how perfectly they seemed to fit together, the comforting weight of his body atop hers, the way he felt inside of her. 

He slipped nearly all the way free and then pushed back in, this time drawing out the way he slowly sank back into her, repeating the motion with increasing intensity until his cock rubbed up against a spot just right and she gasped. 

“Did you like that, Lady?” He seemed so proud he had pleased her, and that only added to the feeling of bliss slinking through her that had begun to swell. 

Aethelflaed nodded, not sure if she could find the words to speak, and in any case, there was no shame in lying, not when she knew Uhtred would give her precisely what she wanted and deny her nothing. She writhed beneath him, her back arching to meet each of his thrusts, her legs wrapping tighter around his hips as she sought to feel more of him, all of him. 

She found herself grateful for her tight grip when he flipped her over a moment later so she sat astride him. 

“I can see you better now,” he said with his smile that was like a lure. “All of you.” 

Aethelflaed could not complain of her view either, not with how thrilling it was to have his powerful body spread beneath her like this, or the way she could now see his kiss-reddened lips and his blue eyes filled with reverence. He guided her hips so she ground down on his cock as he bucked up into her, and she braced on his chest as he slipped a hand between her legs again and allowed her to choose the pace and the pressure. 

It didn’t take long for them to learn to match each other’s rhythm, coming together in the easy way they seemed to with all else, Uhtred seeming to know precisely where she wanted his touch, his hands, his lips, how quick or slow to move within her, what words she wished to hear. 

She felt herself start to tighten around him, and it seemed to only spur Uhtred on more, drawing another groan from his throat and a deeper thrust from his hips. 

“Let go, Lady,” he whispered, and while she wished to hear her name on his lips again, she couldn’t resist anymore. He held her to him as she peaked, pleasure winding through every nerve of her body, pushing out the cold, forcing away fear, until there was nothing left but her and him.

When her senses returned, she realized he still remained hard inside of her, and while she fought the urge to sag against him, wrung boneless, she encouraged him to finish with a slow swivel of her hips she continued until she felt him spill hotly a moment later. 

Afterwards, Uhtred wrapped her in his arms and tugged the cloak tight around them while Aethelflaed laid on his chest and absentmindedly ran her fingertips over the scars there, the hair of his beard that tickled her cheek, the ridges of his muscled abdomen. She didn’t think if they coupled together a thousand times she’d ever stop being fascinated by him. After all, she never had throughout all these years of yearning. She giggled at the thought. 

He shifted to kiss the crown of her head. “What makes you laugh?”

“Is this what you imagined all those times I asked to share your cloak?” 

“I didn’t hope, but it’s what I wished,” he said.

“It’s what I wished, too,” she murmured. 

And with her one wish answered, as she drifted off to sleep beneath the stars entwined with him, the man she always trusted above anyone else, who had come to her aid in time of need and who had served as her friend, protector, and confidant, whom she had come to love, she made another.


End file.
